


Distant sound of sleigh bells

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [27]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Christmas, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: He’s Christmas Shopping.  With Steve.  He’s fine.But he didn’t grow up celebrating Christmas.  He only started when he joined the army.  No need to draw attention to himself as a gay Jew.And his handlers don’t let him celebrate anything.  He hasn’t seen calendar in… months?  Years?  He doesn’t know.  Maybe that’s the point.  It’s only the change in weather that gives him an inkling of the passing time.It’s too hot in here, but Bucky’s hand and feet are freezing.  Icy sweat drips down his spine then absorbs into a frigid wet patch on the back of his shirt.  His head hurts.  So does his stomach. It’s flying up through his chest, and he’s falling, he’s going to hit the snow in the bottom of the canyon—“Buck, it’s ok.”He doesn’t hit snow.  He hits Steve’s warm chest.  Arms wrap around him and hold him there.  He’s only aware that he’s shaking because Steve’s perfectly still.





	Distant sound of sleigh bells

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051

Sometimes time doesn’t make sense to Bucky. He can’t think of a good reason for it; no matter what happened during the war or what he was doing, time was moving forward at the same rate as always. But all the same, he’s confused when Steve meets him in front of the VA after work with a smile and a Starbucks cup.

“Hey.”  Steve claps him sweetly on the shoulder.  “You ready for your mission?”

“Um.  What?”  Bucky takes the coffee, though. He likes the warmth, and the beginnings of a headache nag at the nape of his neck. Things like fluid consumption tend to disappear into the time void during his work hours.

“I don’t think weekends count toward shopping days,” Steve says. “Don’t quote me on it, but I’m starting to think it’s now or never.”

Shopping. “Oh.”  Bucky nods, and the ache in his head flares.  Christmas is…not tomorrow, surely. Monday?  Tuesday?  He isn’t sure. But he does remember telling Steve he wanted to personally choose his gifts for his friends.  Clint and Laura, Sam, Nat, even Darcy deserve something more fitting than a fruit basket chosen from a catalogue. Bucky supposes he knew along it would necessitate a trip to the mall, but there went time. He hadn’t made the jump between planning and actually doing.

“Yeah,” he nods, trying to be emphatic. Or at least sincere. “Let’s go.”

“It’s probably going to be kind of crowded,” Steve warns.  “Just want you to be prepared.  Next-day shipping is still a thing.”  He smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind Bucky’s ear.  His knuckles brush lightly against Bucky’s cheek, feeling for fever or clamminess or something.  It’s sweet.  Or perhaps Bucky’s just paranoid.

“I know.”  Bucky tries to say it without an attitude, but his voice sounds funny in his own ears, and he isn’t sure if he’s missed the mark.  He sips his coffee, swallowing the warmth like it’s liquid courage.  Which it is, just with the opposite effect of alcohol.  “Let’s go.”

“Ok.”  Steve holds the car door open for Bucky like a gentleman, then watches him wrestle his coffee into the cupholder.  A bit splashes up through the opening in the lid, landing on the webbing between his forefinger and thumb.  

“What?”  Bucky licks the coffee off his hand.  The attitude definitely comes through this time, even though he doesn’t mean it to.  He tries to smile to offset it.  He hopes it isn’t a grimace.

“Nothing.”  Steve smiles too, really smiles.  Bucky tries to compare the feeling of the creases in his cheeks with the look of Steve’s.  He’s pretty sure he’s failed again.

It only takes five minutes to drive to the mall, but they spend twice as long trolling through the aisles of the parking lot looking for a space.  Finally Steve crams the sedan into a spot beside a crookedly parked truck.  There isn’t enough space on the passenger side for Bucky to open his door, so he climbs awkwardly over the center console to slip out the driver’s side.  

“Ugh.  Sorry,” Steve says, shaking his head and locking up.  “Hopefully they’ll be gone by the time we’re done.”  He jerks his chin toward the truck, then grabs Bucky’s hand and starts a purposeful stride toward the entrance to JC Penny.  

“’S alright,” Bucky says automatically, falling into step beside him.  But he thinks of his coffee left behind in the cupholder.  His palm is slightly sweaty against Steve’s.  He’d rather have it wrapped around the paper cup.  He feels guilty for it, but at least then he could pretend the perspiration was from the heat.

True to Steve’s prediction, the store is packed.  Bucky doesn’t think he’d mind if that was the only uncomfortable factor in play.  But as soon as they walk in the door, the hair on the back of his neck prickles to attention.  He’s reminded of long-forgotten training exercises, the kind that were meant to push him to his limits of sensory input while focusing on a singular task.  Find the target.  Neutralize the threat.  

That was… Bucky isn’t even sure how long ago.  He doesn’t do time.  But the fluorescent lights that give everything a sickly greenish tinge, the scents of perfume and stale grease and warm bodies are familiar.  And distasteful.  

“So, what were you thinking you wanted to buy?”  Steve takes half a step towards the menswear department, then stops and looks at Bucky.  

Bucky blinks hard.  Hadn’t Steve told him this was a mission?  Or is that some other long-lost memory back to haunt him?  It’s considerate of Steve to relinquish command, since it’s one of the few things they fight about now, but Bucky wishes he’d take control.  He’s used to following orders, obeying his commanding officers.  He doesn’t know how to make decisions on his own.

“Um…”  Bucky’s head throbs.  He tries to look into Steve’s eyes, but the glare coming off his face is too bright.  He blinks again.  Squints.  Swallows.  

A woman with a shopping cart almost runs into them.  “It’s ok.”  Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and guides him into the space between two racks of t-shirts.  “Take your time.”

It’s not ok, though.  Something’s gone wrong in his head.  Not just the ache, though now it’s bad enough to pull the taste of bitter coffee up into his throat.  Time is flicking on and off like a strobe light, moving forward and back  with such speed that Bucky can barely believe he’s standing still.

He’s Christmas Shopping.  With Steve.  He’s fine.  

But he didn’t grow up celebrating Christmas.  He only started when he joined the army.  No need to draw attention to himself as a gay Jew.

And his handlers don’t let him celebrate anything.  He hasn’t seen calendar in… months?  Years?  He doesn’t know.  Maybe that’s the point.  It’s only the change in weather that gives him an inkling of the passing time.

It’s too hot in here, but Bucky’s hand and feet are freezing.  Icy sweat drips down his spine then absorbs into a frigid wet patch on the back of his shirt.  His head hurts.  So does his stomach. It’s flying up through his chest, and he’s falling, he’s going to hit the snow in the bottom of the canyon—

“Buck, it’s ok.”  

He doesn’t hit snow.  He hits Steve’s warm chest.  Arms wrap around him and hold him there.  He’s only aware that he’s shaking because Steve’s perfectly still.  

A wet noise comes from Bucky’s throat.  He grits his teeth because he doesn’t want to cry.  He can’t start sobbing in the middle of his mission.

“Shhh, it’s ok.  You’re safe.”  Steve’s chin brushes the top of Bucky’s head.

Of course he’s safe.  He’s with Steve.  How could he have forgotten?  A rush of guilt breaks Bucky’s flimsy hold on control.  His jaw goes numb and hot sourness coats his back teeth.  He gags and tries to pull away.  He can’t be sick.  He can’t lose control.

“Ok, alright.”  Steve’s feet move, but his solid grip keeps Bucky in place.  Bucky opens his eyes just enough to see ropy spit and coffee collect in a pool on the worn carpet.  He heaves again, feeling his eyes and nose start to dribble.  Strings of bile stick to his chin.  He’s a mess.

“I’m—“ Bucky chokes.  “Fuck, I’m sorry.”  He retracts his hand into his sleeve and scrubs sloppily at his leaking face.

“Hey, don’t worry.”  Steve cups his hand against the back of Bucky’s neck, lifting his hair and inviting in a breeze that helps settle his stomach.  “Let’s just go outside.  Do you feel up to walking?”

Bucky nods, though he isn’t sure.  He’s grateful for Steve’s arm around his shoulders, keeping him from tripping over his feet as they retrace their steps out of the store.  There are a few old people and sullen teenagers sitting on a bench, waiting for rides.  Somebody’s smoking a cigarette, and oddly, that’s what makes him feel better.  That’s how things are supposed to be.  Escaping into the back alley behind a bar, a little sick and a little sad, sharing a smoke and maybe, if nobody’s looking, a kiss…

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says again, clearing his throat and mopping his face with the inside of his elbow.  “That was…I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve says.  “You don’t have to know.  Or explain.  Or go shopping.”

“I thought…”. Bucky grapples for words.  He’s thought a lot of things in the last few minutes.  “I thought I wanted to.   But…I don’t.”

“Ok.  I think I’d rather just go home, too,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah.”  Bucky draws in a shaky breath.  “I don’t know how I feel about… you know…”

“About what?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighs.  “This.  Christmas.  Everything.”  If there’s a term that somehow encompasses nostalgia and hope and joy and sadness and memories he wishes he still had and traumas he wishes he could forget, he doesn’t know what it is.

“You don’t have to, Buck.”  Steve tightens his arm around Bucky, pulling him close enough to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.  “If you want to talk about it, we can.  If you don’t…” He shrugs, his shoulder rising and falling against Bucky’s arm.  “It’s ok.  I love you no matter what.”

Steve isn’t speaking loudly, but Bucky still glances around.  Nobody’s staring.  Nobody’s even looking at them.  Bucky catches Steve’s eye and smiles.  The corners of his mouth hit the proper angles this time, and that makes him feel better. He doesn’t understand time, but he’s glad it’s passing.  He’s glad he’s moving forward.


End file.
